


The Man with Nerves of Steel

by Roughnight



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, M/M, Omega John, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:11:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roughnight/pseuds/Roughnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>.</p><p>John Watson never really thought that he was glaringly predictable but he supposed no one really stood a chance against the cutting brilliance in the form of this alpha.</p><p>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man with Nerves of Steel

**Author's Note:**

> For those who will come across this fic, I would just like to say that I've included this one as a part of a multi-chap fic. This is now a part of John's chapter, **[THE MAN WITH NO SCENT](http://archiveofourown.org/works/770749/chapters/1446432)** , instead pf being a stand alone Part of the series. Apologies**

 

Exposing himself among the throng of people without the cover of his cloak had been terribly frightening. He wasn’t a man easily scared, not with both the military and medical career on his plate. He had both killed and patched lives, humans and wolves alike, along the course of his service. He has learned how to keep a part of his mind awake even when he was sleeping, ready and alert for a swift kill if he needed to save his skin, learned how to brave the harsh weather while slipping off from enemies and pursuers. He wasn’t easily frightened, yet apparently, he was. He also knew it was all just _fine_ to get nerves. He has braced himself for it as a natural consequence of having had to spend the last few months being on the run and watching for his back even as he watched on all possible directions all at once. It has been a chaotic escape and it was bound to take its toll on his mind, bound to cause trauma, even. While he knew he couldn’t be faulted for being a bit irrational, it was to say that he still felt utterly annoyed and a little embarrassed for having felt the crippling fear that washed over him as he shed his cloak and for the first time walked the streets of this huge, unfamiliar city bare of concealment. He felt, in a way, naked and light—but never vulnerable for deep down, the wolf in him can never truly and willingly allow itself to be one.

 

He squinted from the harsh glare of sunlight as he emerged from the narrow, dingy alley and felt the air from his lungs get sucked away rather completely. A passing man or two had spared him a fleeting glance but not a flicker of recognition was reflected on their eyes and John felt himself finally exhale. He hadn’t realized how his lungs tend to fail every time his heart would gallop madly. Swarms of bodies passed him by and it happened with such might and swiftness that he wasn’t given proper time to adjust. He found that he couldn’t react at all from the flood and flurry of activities. The city vibrated, it practically buzzed with the echoes and noises of activities. Nobody cared. He just had to accept it. The place was unreservedly alive and vibrant and chaotic with unrelenting activities that he couldn’t find the time to acclimate. Within an eye’s blink and a mouth’s exhale, he just suddenly became part of the city, swallowed whole mercilessly. It was as if leaving his cloak behind had meant he was leaving the identity he wished to conceal. And while this was a wishful thinking on his part, he had to acknowledge that the brilliant alpha had been right that it was the cloak that inevitably demanded passerby’s attentions. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Eventually someone has bumped into him and he distantly heard someone hissing a sort of _“move it”_ that he realized he ought to move for apparently not moving wasn’t allowed in this place. He took a couple of tentative steps, his grip tightening on the sling of his burlap, and decided to let the tide of bodies dictate his direction. So he walked, uncertain but resolute, as his heart beat furiously inside his chest and as his blood thrummed inside his body. He needed to keep moving and perhaps it would be more advisable this time around if he himself didn’t know where he was going. He doesn’t really have a clue as to what to do at the moment but he had to avoid being predictable. That alpha detective had a dangerous, sharp mind. If he could trace back the places John has been from, what would be the chances that the man could predict where a runaway omega would hide himself next? His heart fluttered as he thought about the possibility of the alpha going after him. He brushed off whatever image his mind would’ve conceived next. Surely that wasn’t the buzz of excitement he felt from such a daring, treacherous thought.

 

He walked a lot. He walked until the sense of time was lost on him and until the blazing glare of the sun has turned into a mellow, gentle afternoon. His heart eventually settled and his nerves sublimated. The irrational fear of walking in the city exposed was forgotten. It was a small accomplishment he was actually grateful for. He was learning to pick up the traces of confidence his hiding has drilled away. He could blend in. He could do it. He could start a life. But first thing’s first. He had to be realistic where he stood. His clothes were filthy. He _felt_ filthy. He was covered with dry mud and blood and days worth of sweat. He also probably stunk horribly whether or not he can smell his own scent. He frowned at that. It wasn’t a comfort to know that he has become desensitized to his own smell especially when he was a wolf. There’s only so little his general appearance could take him without attracting suspicion and scrutiny which was probably the reason why he has once again found himself in a place with narrow, littered streets in the downtown part of the city this time inhabited by the homeless population. He reckoned he wouldn’t be safer anywhere, not if he’d stayed in a place where the groomed ones could easily pinpoint a ragged, oblivious civilian. He would fit here, at least, during the moment where decent clothes and a bath were still unavailable to him. No one would, after all, question what a man who barely owned anything was doing in a place industrialized with makeshift houses of cartons, bins, plastics and torn clothes. He desperately needed to settle and staying homeless for one more night would be the least of his problems. He needed a spot before the dark; fortunately, he wasn’t entirely without anything to offer.

 

He was privileged to have his scent concealed. Surprisingly, the land of the homeless consisted of both men and wolves. He recognized some young and old alphas and betas and a lot of ordinary men all existing and cohabiting in the same place, apparently sharing with the ground and acknowledging each other. From where John had come from, the wolves tend to isolate themselves from the humans and the latter were generally more cautious and mistrustful of the other kind. Scowall was dominated and run by wolves who were given more power and control. This place seemed to promote the contrary, the inter-mingling. But as to be expected, there wasn’t an omega in this place. That’s the one thing this land shared with Scowall—omegas weren’t allowed to be _unsheltered_. They wouldn’t have been left alone for long anywhere they would find themselves in. It made his skin crawl to think he could’ve been in a worse predicament had he not taken the pills. He was on borrowed time. He could feel the moon calling. It would come within the week but he’d be able to refuse its call. He was fortunate still. Alone and without solid walls around him, he wouldn’t have been capable of holding his own against the alphas that would’ve roamed at the night of the full moon if they found out what he was. He clawed at the air as he shuddered at the thought.

 

He steeled his overactive nerves with a breath as he walked towards a group clustered around a bonfire. The idea has blossomed when he passed by them some minutes ago and saw something his clinical eyes had been trained for before. It simply came naturally. While he loathed using it to his advantage when it was his job to serve it to the needy, he had to acknowledge that he was at the moment someone who also needed all the help he could hoard.

 

The group spared him a glance when he came near enough. The faces weren’t hostile but John recognized the stares one would throw at a stranger who could pose a threat. Looking each and every one of them in the eyes, he let his arms fall lax on his sides and lifted his chin. He wouldn’t raise his hands in a sign of surrender though. It was against his core and these people didn’t need someone helpless in their number.

 

“I’m a doctor,” he started, then realizing the flaw of his statement, added, “or I used to be… I have some herbs with me that could provide some relief to your children I noticed are currently having fever and cough.  I only ask that you share the fire and a spot for me during the night.”

 

~*~*~

 

Gaining trust wasn’t easy especially when you’re an unidentified man who claimed to be something without proof and practically told the parents and the elders how you’ll be feeding some concoction of barks and leaves to the already vulnerable children. But he wasn’t a doctor for nothing and he has later proven himself and got the end of his bargain as the night crept by. He was still without roof above his head but he was used to it so it wouldn’t pose a problem when there was a good fire to keep him warm _but_ he would be sleeping with other people for the first time in a long while, humans and wolves alike, closely as they all huddled and shared the fire and this, this would be a problem. It was new. It was different. It was the reason why even when he was truly exhausted and drained; his discomfort had pushed the sleep away even when he closed his eyes. It was why he was alerted at the dead of the night when an unmistakable sound of gunshot pierced the silence.

 

He stilled as he snapped his eyes open. The four other homeless nearby remained deep in their undisrupted slumber. The night was filled with snoring and the cackling of fire, as well as the strained silence and the faint breathings. It felt like a sham though against the stark contrast of the earlier fired armament. He had a second to think about what he was going to do about the awareness of what was probably happening just a few steps away from where he was. The gunshot, it was close by. The others didn’t even stir from the firearm’s noise. It occurred to him that this kind of thing most probably occur quite regularly in this place. Self preservation mandated that he ought to ignore it. But while curiosity was said to kill cats, he wasn’t one. He was a wolf and so with a silent exhale, he hauled himself onto his feet steadily and securely hooked his burlap on his shoulders. How worse could it get? He was just going to take a look.

 

John stealthily crept close along the shadows on the walls and headed towards the general direction he estimated the gunshot came from. His heart beat steadily inside his chest and it felt like a calming lullaby, grounding him. He counted the seconds it took him to reach the source of the commotion. It was until he reached what looked like an abandoned parking lot at the back of an old factory that he started to make out the shadows. Three armed men were surrounding a skinny figure of a kid defiantly covering a kneeling, trembling girl behind him. The breeze carried with it the mixed smell of alphas and… an _omega_. John perked up and bristled even as he carefully watched the scenario unfold, making his own deductions and accepting the fact as reasonably as he could. The young girl was an omega and the young lad was probably a relative, a brother. There was a distinct similarity in their smell that purely screamed familial relations. It felt familiar and he had a sense of déjà vu even as he unhooked his bag from his shoulder and once again retrieved his tranquilizer gun from the waist band of his jeans. He was losing his ammo fast and not entirely for the original purpose he had intended them for when he brought it with him during his escape. Scowling, he counted the narrow short darts logged inside his gun. Two more shots. _Great_. Steadying his breath, he squinted in the dark and allowed his eyes to adjust as he patiently waited for a chance to intervene as would be required. He inched closer as the place allowed him without being detected, concealing his physique among the shadows.

 

He waited for the voice at the back of his mind to stop him. Nothing came. The human and the wolf in him were agreeing on the same thing. He really couldn’t afford to get discovered but he keeps finding himself most unfortunately bumping into situations where he was required to interlope among the affairs of the wolves and all of these during the first day he has set foot on this country he wished to hide himself in. Speak about fate’s irony… Sooner or later, someone was bound to recognize him or worse, he could get caught by this land’s authorities and be discovered how he illegally accessed the country. These were the thoughts he needed to ponder about but only later. There were children at stake and one of them was omega and John would simply just have to kill himself to ignore it.

 

The omega child was quivering, frozen and as pale as sheet behind the alpha boy who was baring his teeth at the bigger, and unfairly armed men. The only advantage John could glean from the scenario was the obvious sneers on the larger wolves’ faces and relaxed hold on their guns. It was crystal that a scrawny alpha kid hardly posed a threat to them.

 

“Leave my sister alone!” The kid snarled.

 

“Or what, _Raz_?” A raspy voice answered and John saw the middle man advance until he was directly looming over the boy. “You think you could stop us? You think someone would miraculously come to help you? You heard the shots. Nobody would care about a couple of sniveling homeless kids.”

 

“We _aren’t_ homeless.” The boy named Raz defiantly retorted.

 

The man gave a humorless snort before swinging his arm and letting his closed fist hit the boy square on his face. The girl gave a short, horrified cry even as she crawled over the crumpled body of her brother.

 

“A job’s a job. Just because you signed up for it doesn’t make you an exception.”

 

“She isn’t part of the deal.” Raz grunted weakly as he coughed and wheezed from the ground.

 

“Shame. You also didn’t tell us she was an omega.”

 

“Enough of this drama.” Another man said disinterestedly. “Let’s just get the job done. It’s late enough as it is.”

 

The man who’d hit the boy approached the girl and wrapped his beefy hands on her forearm before violently tugging on it and hauling her on her feet. She half stumbled directly against the man’s side even as she valiantly but vainly attempted to pull herself free. The man was relentless and initially barely spared her a glance as he continued to drag her away until she sank her teeth on his wrist with scarcely contained aggravation and drew blood. John admired the rawness of the act, her child teeth gleaming white against the moonlight. The huge man growled and raised his other hand, the one holding the gun, and before he could swing it down on the girl, John took his shot.

 

The dart hit the assaulting man squarely on the side of his neck, the pointed metal piercing through the vulnerable exposed flesh. A breathe. Then John took aim once again before the other wolves could take the time to react, and fired another round at the second alpha, this time planting the dart somewhere on the man’s chest. His tranquilizer gun glinted against the dark and his second shot has given the remaining thug ample time to locate his position. John ducked on the ground even as bullets were fired and whizzed by him, from where he was previously standing. He needed cover. Silently wishing that the man not take advantage of the presence of a hostage, he rolled on the dirt until he had brick walls shielding him from the thug’s direct view. He kept his ears sharp for telltale signs of the alpha going for the children and was inwardly glad to hear instead the footsteps of pursuit going at his direction. That’s what he loved about alphas; they could get absolutely stupid in their egoistic temper. The thug as a typical alpha temperamental manifestation now wanted John’s blood. He wished the kids could’ve found this as a chance for escape.

 

He sprinted as fast as he could and as silently as the ground could allow him. He kept his eyes sharp for finding places that could allow him leverage or even the slightest semblance of shelter from possible bullets aimed at him. He also needed to avoid running straight to the place the homeless were all peacefully and unwarily taking their slumber. No casualties. He had to at least involve as little as he could. He rounded and run on alleys upon alleys he hasn’t been too before. If he wasn’t so busy saving his own ass, he would’ve taken the time to snort. Alphas and alleys were becoming the least of his favorite combination. He rounded a corner and felt his heart sink. It was an open space. He had inadvertently reached an _open space_. Gritting his teeth, he turned his eyes back at the alley he had come from and saw the shadow of the thug already catching up to him. He ducked low and rolled on the ground even as the silence of the night was pierced by another gunshot. The bang echoed closely on his ear and he had for a moment become deaf, hearing only the harsh, rapid breathing that was his own even as liquid fire curled and spread somewhere on his side. It stung and the pain was almost crippling but he found that he was still moving, half rolling and half kneeling on the ground even as his body reacted on its own to try to get as far away as possible from the threat. Must be a bullet graze then, if his limbs were still attached and listening to his brain’s command. The pain was immense but John knew he wouldn’t have been able to move if he was truly shot. He knew what that feels like after all. He was cold and hot at the same time. Covering with his bare hand  the torn flesh that now begun to trickle with blood, John steadied himself and twisted back so that he was facing his attacker. If he was going to get killed, he’d rather see the fucker in the face. Funny how he would get himself killed even before his true pursuers could reach him.

 

The huge alpha had eyes that screamed murder, his bearded jaw clenched tight even as he stalked towards John with the gun pointed at the doctor’s face. John remembered how his mother used to say that John’s height wasn’t just genetic, that it was also because he was an omega and simply not built for combat. He has always hated that idea but now he couldn’t brush away the thought that the alpha in front of him seemed indeed big.

 

“You little shit,” the man growled, his eyes twitching malevolently, “who sent you!?”

 

And that, John thought, was probably the sole reason he was kept alive and not directly shot at in the head. The thug clearly wanted answers, entertaining the idea that someone was onto them. And the reason they were after the little girl finally made sense. John ought to have realized it earlier. These men were members of an omega smuggling ring. He dug his nails on the ground in frustration. It was the same everywhere. These beasts—they prowl everywhere.

 

John glared evenly at the other man looming over him and threatening to blow his brains out. He wasn’t particularly a threat against the criminals’ ring but it wouldn’t hurt to hold the knowledge away and in its place plant a reason for fear. He bit the inside of his cheeks and stared spitefully. Distinctly, he felt the phantom ache on his left shoulder. His old gun wound—the bane of his existence, the very source of all the woes and dangers he was escaping from at this point in time. The night was cold and the chill of the air bit at him but he felt unusually warm from the bullet graze that continued to soak his shirt with blood. His left shoulder felt like ice though and so were his hands. He was distinctly aware that his body was scrambling to prepare for the inevitable bullet, his system relieving the horrific experience he had suffered and lived through before. All he could do was steady his breath and look his adversary in the eyes.

 

The familiar smell hit him even before he saw. It must’ve been the breeze for the thug seemed to have not noticed it as he did. The thick, intoxicating, heady scent permeated the air and he felt his blood surge and sing in excitement, as if responding to a call. It enveloped him and John shuddered at how much it could affect him that it should be illegal. There’s an _alpha_ standing right in front of him holding a bloody gun at his face and all he could think about was the smell of someone else. And before he could further mull about it, he saw a blur of shadow tearing itself away from the darkness then lunged and sent a flurry of limbs against the thug’s back. The arm holding the gun has been propelled askew, and was fired in midair, towards the sky, even as a long limb bent and viciously kneeled at the thug’s abdomen. It was unrefined and ruthless but there was the unmistakable grace in its swift execution. The man was enviously nimble.  John watched, reluctantly but wholly fascinated, as the tall, lithe figure of the curly haired _consulting_ detective finally sent another fistful onto the thug’s nose. He whipped around towards John even before the other man hit the solid ground. This alpha, _Sherlock_ , for that was his name, had his eyes blown wide even as his nostrils flared and his chest heaved silently and steadily controlled. His pale cheeks were uncharacteristically tinted with color from the fight. Alpha. There was no doubt in John’s mind what this wolf looming over him truly was.

 

Sherlock’s eyes were bright as they skimmed over John’s person before those silver orbs finally alighted and met the omega’s blue ones. There was a triumphant glint in those eyes. There was a subtle flicker on his face, almost like recognition, an emotion John couldn’t truly identify but then it was gone and the alpha was instead sporting a smug smirk at him that almost looked like a spasm at the edge of his lips.

 

“You certainly have been busy, _doctor_.” Sherlock drawled, tipping his head at the side even as he stared John with an unearthly stillness.

 

There were so many things he could’ve said at this point, so many ways he could’ve responded, but whether it was attributed to his fatigue, to his loss of blood, or to the ludicrousness of this whole scenario, John for the life of him couldn’t decide how he ought to feel about the unfolding situation. He felt like a rag had been pulled beneath his feet and he was tipping over—only it doesn’t stop and he kept flipping over and over.

 

“ _How_ ,” was all John managed, which seemed to have been this… _bizarre_ _wolf who comes like a hurricane_ —for John couldn’t decide how he ought to feel about him—was waiting for.

 

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes and muttered something about _‘bread crumbs’_. He reached for something from his pocket before he slowly and quite deliberately dropped some bullets onto the ground next to John. The omega wouldn’t have recognized them had not the alpha unwound something that was tied around his waist, something John belatedly failed to recognize earlier, and dropped it next to John as well. It was his _sodding_ filthy _cloak._ John let his gaze brush at the bullets scattered on the ground—all seven of them—and now fully understood. This alpha, this incredibly amazing alpha has _hunted_ him by finding all the bloody crumbs John has left behind. John felt goose bumps along his limbs and heard the roar of blood on his ear. It really must be attributed to the onslaught of oncoming hypothermia and hypotension that the word escaped his lips.

 

“ _Astounding,”_ he breathed.

 

And then he heard a rustle of clothes. He lifted his eyes and felt his heart stammer to discover the alpha crouching low in front of him, his face inches away from John’s as his pale eyes swallow the doctor’s blue ones, and felt rather than saw the predatory wolf sniff. The doctor was surprised by his own control to not have squeaked as he felt the shift of air somewhere on his face. The alpha exhaled and John smelled the other man’s breath.

 

John thought it was actually hilarious. He was the one currently bombarded by the sinful, sharp, captivating scent of the alpha, fighting his control over the base instinct of the wolf in him and this…this Sherlock had the gall to scent him. John wished he still had some rounds of tranq darts with him.


End file.
